Wherein Easter pies are a thing that exist.

For those who are just tuning in, this is a story I wrote when ten years old. As a result, the writing is... bad. Hilariously bad. Let's read!

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Annotations in red. Annotations pertaining to something not visible in plain text are omitted from this transcription

Hot rod XV
The girl who spoke not


A day in the life of Hot rod Why did I call this section that, when pretty much everything in this section other than the first two sentences is not at all routine?

Byrd in the living room and the fox in my lap, we all settled down for a long nighttime nap. Ooh, rhyme. In the morning we went downstairs to eat. I asked the fox “What’s your name?” She said absolutely nothing. “Well?” I said. Nothing. From then on I just called her Fox. She flipped There’s that word again. Then again, given her limited means of communication, perhaps she literally did a flip. Mind, even if it did mean what I thought it meant back then, it being near Easter is not sufficient justification for such surprise. when she heard it was almost Easter. We went shopping for dyes, pies, eggs, candy, balloons, and bread (we were out). When we went home we immediately started painting eggs


Satan and Sardor The zany new sitcom!

Right in the middle of painting the last egg the devil came. “Hot rod, Fox, and Byrd. Just who I wanted to see… Hot rod and Byrd, I understand. However, why does he care about Fox? me and the forces of light had an agreement. I will never bother anyone ever again if I revive Sardor and his gang of vampires…” he said. Given how quickly they were disposed of the first time, I would not regard this as a fair trade. He made a psychotic laugh and left. “Great” I said “I have to do it all over again.”